


Their Humanity

by Canterous



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canterous/pseuds/Canterous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after their rescue from Salem's clutches, Jaune and Pyrrha still struggle with what she wrought on them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The usual, I don't own RWBY.

Pyrrha paces down the corridor, her heels clacking against the hard wooden floor, to the room Jaune and her are sharing in the Xiao Long household. She had agreed to take the first shower after their sparring session not five minutes ago, but really she needs time alone to think.

It’s been a year to the day since Beacon fell, since Pyrrha faced Cinder up on the tower and found for herself a fate worse than death. And now their friends are heading back to recon the area, establish how many Grimm have amassed around the Wyvern, and thin out the herd, if at all possible.

Except they haven’t taken either her or Jaune with them.

Pyrrha understands their reasoning, as does Jaune. Even though she’s free of her control, Salem had made sure her mark would linger on the both of them for the rest of their lives. They won’t risk the possibility of her falling under that witch’s influence again, at least not now. It still does nothing to soothe her agitation though. She wants to face the place that had haunted her dreams in the month after she and Jaune had been rescued from their enemies.

Arriving at their room, she pushes the wooden door open with a barely audible creak. The redhead moves to the bed to undress herself for her shower, but before she even takes off her circlet, she catches a glance of herself in the mirror mounted on the wall. A battle of will rages inside for a few short seconds. She knows that what she will see will only bring more sorrow, nevertheless temptation wins out and she places herself in front of the mirror. Her reflection doesn’t prove her wrong.

Her attire is still the same, a grounding mechanism for her subconscious to latch onto, to remind herself that even after what Salem has done to her she is still Pyrrha Nikos, and not the psychotic monster she had tried to mould her in to. Her coronet crowns her head proudly once more, hair done up as before in a long, flowing firefall. Tightly wrapped around her torso is her bronze corset, and just below, her vermillion miniskirt and sash. Even a re-forged Milo hangs off her back, coupled with Akuou as it should be. Almost exactly as she had been a year ago. But that’s the point.

Two details off-set the resemblance to her old self. Pyrrha's skin, while it had always been pale, is now an ethereal shade of white even a Schnee would be hard-pressed to match. And then there are her eyes. No longer the gleaming emeralds that had captivated Mistral, her irises are now a near-luminescent crimson, reminiscent of the monsters they fight. Human instinct tells her a Grimm is staring back at her, and it’s not entirely wrong.

The problem with the Grimm hordes is their lack of intelligence and cohesion. Powerful as Salem is, she cannot lead all the fronts simultaneously, so she sought to rectify that shortcoming. Her answer was taking the best humanity had to offer, and corrupting them into her weapons, the leaders of her armies and the extensions of her will. Thus she would take some of the best traits of man and turn them against him, and in doing so take her revenge on Ozpin.

Pyrrha knows what has happened to the both of them cannot be undone. However, it isn’t the change in appearance that has her distraught, it’s what it causes. Salem had them resemble twisted, fallen angels to inspire dread in her enemies, and being part Grimm she could literally feel it radiate from them. Even with her own friends, months after they had rescued them both from Salem’s clutches, she can still feel their fear, their hesitance, their mistrust of them both and see it in the way they moved around them, hear it in the way they speak. Jaune keeps saying that they’ll come around given time, though it does nothing for this new isolation she feels. Before, people raised her up on a pedestal, too afraid of approaching her in the fear that they may dim her potential. Now they fear for their very _lives_ in her presence.

Nevertheless, she should consider herself lucky. Salem had deemed that beyond the hybridisation, her new addition required little more in the way of improvement, and that with her fame she would be a useful tool to demoralise Mistral with.

If only Jaune had been so fortunate.

Pyrrha can recall the things she has done under the witch’s influence with a disturbing clarity, something she really could do without now. Especially that fateful night, in the third month of the siege of Atlas. The newly reformed RWBY and JNR believed that with her silver eyes having proved an obstacle to her plans time and again, Salem would devote considerable resources to removing Ruby from play. Desperate, they had set a trap with the hooded girl as bait, intending to reinforce her as soon as Cinder and herself appeared. Obviously, it hadn’t gone entirely to plan.

Pyrrha instead had intercepted Jaune’s contingent of the reinforcements while Cinder moved to eliminate the silver-eyed warrior, expecting that their friends would divide their forces to help them both. Jaune, however, forced them to regroup entirely with Ruby, sealing himself in the abandoned dust mines with Pyrrha.

The memory is tinged with pride and sorrow. Pride at the fact that he had come so far so quickly, developing into a fine leader of men, and sorrow as she knows that was the defining moment for him – the moment his future as a general of humanity was laid to waste.

He fought valiantly, his large aura reserves allowing him to give her a challenge. But the outcome of their duel was decided before their swords first clashed, he still couldn’t match her in a straight up fight. What remained of her – the _real_ her – had been forced to watch from inside her own body as she beat him into a bloody pulp, before finishing their battle with a gunshot tearing through his chest. Even now, she can hear his sickening gasps for air as one lung collapses, the chunk of metal searing the vital tissue. Mercifully, he passed out quickly.

At least though, some good came of his sacrifice.

It almost brings a smile to Pyrrha’s face to know that Cinder Fall is no longer among the land of the living.

But as for Jaune…

Salem couldn’t pass up the chance to settle an old score. The Arc line, being one of the older families in Remnant, had proved themselves stalwart enemies time and again in the past – not to mention the fact that he now owed her one Fall Maiden. So she would turn their sole male heir into one of her own, and with a couple of…improvements, would use him to end their defiance once and for all – _If_ he survived.

Pyrrha remembers the procedure vividly. Salem had made her watch. The terror cascading off him, his wretched, agonising screams still ring clear in her head as they-

She shakes her head, vainly attempting to free her mind of the horrific memory. The blond had made her promise him she wouldn’t dwell on the past any longer.

Thankfully, she’s ripped from the memory as she hears the thuds of footfalls accompanied by a whispering rasp along the floorboards; definitely Jaune. He’s likely come due to her increased distress – she forgets all too often he has that ability as well. But the last thing she needs is to see him; to be reminded of what her failure as a huntress had cost him.

So when he appears in the doorway, Pyrrha keeps her eyes trained on the mirror unable to bear the consequence of her weakness.

For the briefest of moments, the pressure of his ‘negativity’, as it were, lessens as he lays eyes on her, and warmth spreads through her chest as she knows that her mere presence is enough to lift his spirits. But black, tar-like guilt quickly smothers the warmth as he realises just why she isn’t looking at him, radiating a fresh wave of sorrow. It isn’t enough that their friends can’t look upon him without an instinctive dread in their hearts, now she won’t either as guilt consumes her just as it had been in the weeks following their rescue.

Her hands ball into fists, nails biting into the hardened leather of her gloves – she’s almost shaking with pent-up self-loathing. _Haven’t I hurt him enough?_

“Haven’t gotten used to the eyes yet either, have you?” She hears from behind her.

Her knight derails her self-destructive train of thought once more. He’s easing them into a conversation first, rather than going straight for the jugular. Pre-calamity Jaune, just like he usually is when the two of them are alone together.

Nevertheless, she’s thankful for the distraction. The fallen champion shakes her head in response, not trusting her voice to hold if she were to speak.

He ‘hmms’ back, and she knows his frown has just grown in size. She can feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull, considering variables and formulating a plan.

“It will get better with time, we just have to believe that,” he pipes to her, trying assuage the cyclone of sorrow and misery and regret that’s rampaging through her chest.

“And what if it doesn’t?” She shakily answers back, her arms now hugging her torso, still avoiding his gaze as her eyes begin to water. She despises how weak she sounds; how weak she’s _being_. Jaune doesn’t need this right now, she’s only dragging him down with her. How can she be thinking this when _she’s_ the one who’s better off?

“It will,” He reaffirms, “I promise.”

A weak smile tugs at her lips at that while she attempts to blink away the tears. Just like Jaune to make a promise like that. But she knows that as much as he may try to fix things, to return their lives to the way they were at Beacon, he’s doomed to failure. Whether or not their friends truly come to accept them once more is purely up to them, and he can do nothing to influence that outcome. As for the root of the problem…Salem has the last laugh on that matter.

Pyrrha can’t imagine what toll the irony of the situation is taking on his mind; he, the only one with the semblance that could have reversed this condition, was captured and corrupted himself. Now try as he might, his semblance doesn’t affect them – or the Grimm – the way it used to anymore.

_And it wouldn’t have happened had I not been so-_

Once more, Jaune shatters her internal conflict, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist while resting his chin on her left shoulder – planting himself in the reflection of the mirror with her. He’s offering her comfort and making her face the source of her woe at the same time.

Like her, his eyes are no longer their natural sapphire colour, but a luminescent crimson like those of the monsters they trained to fight, his skin now as pale as a ghost’s. But what separates them from each other are the black arches sprouting from his shoulder blades, accompanied with their vibrant vermillion plumage, currently trailing down to meet the wooden floorboards.

Wings.

It’s a small mercy that his back is hidden from her view; underneath the brilliant feathers lurk a latticework of scars that hint toward the true extent of Salem’s ‘improvements’. They all but tore open his body in the invasive procedure, first the hybridisation and treatment of the necessary tissue; second, the augmentation of his skeletal frame and circulatory system to handle the stress that the wings would bear on him, then finally grafting those cursed things to his figure.

Pyrrha still sees her, even now, standing over his fallen form laid out on the bloodied surgical table with an expression of sadistic glee, drinking in the terror radiating from him as he awaited his fate under the scalpel. The drugs they used, they kept you awake, aware of everything around you, with the caveat of paralysis…she remembers as much from her time on the table.

Jaune’s eyes betrayed his fear – they knew that Cinder wasn’t the end-all of their enemy, that it was something less than human that guides the Grimm. But this? This being of pure, unfathomable malevolence with an intellect behind her eyes that put most self-aware beings to shame? It was obvious that he hadn’t accounted for it, that he had clearly been expecting death at the end of her rifle barrel. Her words ring clear _– “…A chance to be more than you are naturally”_. The fallen champion still doesn’t know to this day whether the monster actually felt what she was doing was a kindness, or whether she was merely instilling more fear for her to feast upon.

He presses into her again, bringing her back from yet another unwilling dive into the depths of her subconscious. His warm breath tickling her earlobe; his sweat stinging her skin; his strong heart thumping against her back all serve to lull her partially back to a more relaxed state, and she leans back into his comforting embrace, expelling yet another shaky sigh.

Why does she have to be so selfish? Why does she have to keep wishing for a dream that can never come to pass, instead of appreciating what they have left? She knows that both of them should be dead, that they shouldn’t be here right now, able to share in the intimacy she had desired for so long when they had simply been students attending Beacon. Yet she can’t stop dwelling on the future that Salem has denied them both.

“I’m so sorry, Jaune,” another wave radiates from him, and she mentally slaps herself – he’s hated that particular phrase ever since the Calamity. “I’m sor-” She catches herself, “What I mean to say is, I keep holding you back-”

“ _You_?” He interrupts, “Holding _me_ back? That sounds a little ironic, don’t you think?” The corners of his lips quirk up in an amused smirk. “Have you forgotten who trained this blond noodle?”

A giggle nearly escapes her lips at that. ‘Noodle’ as he may have been back then, he had still been surprisingly strong given his lack of formal training, and now in terms of raw, physical strength he outmatches her. The hardened muscle of his bare chest pressing into her back certainly seems to support that fact.

“How could I forget those nights on the roof, Jaune? They’re some of my fondest memories,” Two slender hands rise to cover his own calloused ones, “But I’m only holding you back when I refuse to let go of what we’ve lost, especially when you paid the higher price for my fai-”

“Pyrrha,” His voice chides in her ear, “Remember what we promised each other about ‘past mistakes’? We’ll fall apart if we keep blaming ourselves for what’s happened, and that will only help the ones that did this to us. Besides,” His voice takes on a more jovial tone as he raises his new, feathery appendages to their full span – they’re longer than he is tall, “Doesn’t everyone want to be able to fly when they’re a kid? I don’t have it too bad. These really would have helped in initiation too…”

Jaune’s words fail to allay Pyrrha’s guilt. She doesn’t need her new abilities to see that he hates them and what they’ve brought him. It doesn’t escape her notice, the subtle clench of his jaw every time Yang refers to him as their ‘Arc-angel’ in jest. Nor does it now when she examines them in their reflection, noticing the small patches where, like an overzealous bird preening, he’s picked away at the glossy feathers. Emotion burns beneath her eyes again as self-loathing whispers in her ear once more.

_And it’s all your fault, you foolish little girl._

Pyrrha’s painfully aware she can’t undo the damage she’s caused him. Losing her shattered something in his psyche, and she’s so sorry for that. But that doesn’t mean she can’t be there for him like he has been for her. She’s played the part of ‘damsel in distress’ for much too long.

“Jaune…”

He halts mid-blather.

“Please, don’t lie to me about this. I know you hate them.” He sucks in breath for a response, but she carries on, pleading evident in her tone, “Jaune, you don’t have to cope with this by yourself.” Her hands gently pull apart the arms wrapped around her, freeing her from his embrace and allowing her to turn away from his reflection, to face him properly. Their crimson eyes make contact, and she finds his devoid of that previous mirth, in its stead something more…rough around the edges. Something darker. “Just because you’re the leader of JNPR doesn’t mean you can’t lean on us – or me – for support from time to time.”

Her knight is one of the most stubborn people she knows. Even after the horrors Salem had put him through, he still hadn’t given up – when what remained of her shattered when she saw that despite her sacrifice, he had still come to suffer the same inglorious fate. His stubbornness, his unwillingness to let go, it’s the only reason she’s alive and with him now. So it comes as no small surprise that after months of trying to coax him into opening up, into releasing all the feelings he’s repressed up for a year, that he finally gives way.

Her mention of leadership seems to catalyse the breakdown of his barriers, the reaction signalled by a bitter chuckle.

“Leader? Of JNPR? If that were true, we’d be with them at Beacon right now, and I’d actually be leading. But they won’t trust me with their lives, and why would they?” He gestures to his extended wings, “Not only do they have to follow the idiot who got stuck in the tree in initiation, but that idiot is now literally a sentient Grimm. And I doubt what happened back in Mistral instilled any confidence in them.”

She stands there, patiently listening to him as he rants, finally letting loose all the negative emotions he’s repressed for so long. The fallen champion recalls that particular mission – their first in the field since their emancipation. All the hatred, the sorrow, the anger concentrated in that White Fang camp had changed something in the way they fought, changing strikes meant to incapacitate into killing blows. Since their incarceration under Salem, taking life has become unnervingly easy. And that’s the most disturbing thing about it. Its influence in combat is subtle, pervasive rather than brutish and short-lived, not sending them into fits of violent bloodlust, but altering, ‘tinting’ their view of the world. Making their enemy seem less than human.

And it doesn’t help that, in the months after losing her, he took up a worryingly…pragmatic approach to their battles. He’s since improved after learning of her ‘survival’, nonetheless her chest feels unbearably tight thinking of how close to the abyss he was – how close he still is.

“Hell, and that’s without them knowing we can still control the Grimm. Imagine what they might do if they find out now? How in the name of…just how are we going to reveal that to them? When everyone, even you, can’t bear to look at me?”

The red of Jaune’s eyes suddenly shrinks away as he realises his lapse in self-control. He takes a shuddering breath, preparing to spout a quick apology and leave. He doesn’t want to talk about this with anyone, especially her. She’s still recovering, she shouldn’t have to help him shoulder his burden like she did at Beacon – when he was so ignorant to her own. He’s meant to be her _leader_ ; leaders are meant to support those under their command, not the other way around.

But before a single stuttered syllable passes his lips, Pyrrha moves forward and entraps him in a warm embrace, pressing her head into the nook of his neck. Her deceptively slender hands trace soothingly along his scarred back.

He’s at a loss at how to respond. He should apologise and break off her embrace, but he doesn’t want to hurt her for what essentially amounts to his own pride. They’re meant to be better at communicating than this – the strength of their bond is supposed to be proof of that, and yet…

“Jaune,” She speaks softly against his chest, “you may be the leader of JNPR, but we’re also partners, and as you told me months ago: partners are meant to protect each other. Since then, you’ve done everything you can to help me. So please, let me help you now.”

While Jaune’s conflicted mind continues to debate fruitlessly his options and their possible outcomes, in this moment of weakness his body makes a decision for him. Strong arms rise up and hesistantly return her embrace, and he can feel her smile against his skin, assuring him he chose correctly. Not for the first time he wonders why she has chosen him of all people to give her heart to, though he doesn’t dare voice that question.

A glimmer of amusement flickers through his being; didn’t he come here to comfort her? Nonetheless, he does manage to take solace in the silver lining – she’s a far cry now from that shattered, weeping girl they’d rescued from that alien land.

Pyrrha speaks up again, though slower and more measured, weighing her words, “You’re not just a chess piece on a board, Jaune. You’re a person, human like everyone else and not…whatever Salem wanted. No matter what you might believe, you won’t be ‘the idiot stuck in the tree’ if you just talk to me. You’ve come so far Jaune, you’re as competent as any one of us.”

Pyrrha parts slightly from him so that she can look him in the eyes. Her gloved hand moves to cup his cheek while she stares into his once azure depths, now awash with crimson. Reassuringly, she can still feel the warmth of his skin through the thin leather separating her hand from his cheek; he’s more alive than his pallor might suggest.

“Most of all Jaune, you’re important to me, just as much as I am to you.” _Rather self-evident, given how far we’ve come, how far we’ve…gone_. “And it hurts to see you like this, to see you try to shut yourself off and ignore your emotions like I did when Ozpin gave me that ‘offer’, before…”

“Before everything went to hell?” He suggests bluntly.

Pyrrha gives an almost imperceptible nod, “I learned-” she shakes her head briefly, “Am _still_ learning from the folly in that. So please, let me in, if not for yourself then for me.”

Jaune’s eyes continue to stare into hers, almost as if gazing into her very soul, and Pyrrha knows that behind them his mind is picking over every word. It amazes her how much more aware he has become over the last year. Hopefully Jaune will recognise what she’s saying – after all, it isn’t too different to what he himself had voiced to her months ago, when she had been so adamant about her…worthlessness.

Pride urges him to refuse her offer, to go on and shoulder his burden by himself as a leader. But pride hasn’t done him any favours in the past, whispers reason. It’s ultimately unsustainable; given enough time he’ll become even more of a liability to his friends, to her.

However, it’s compassion that tips the scales. In those expressive eyes he sees determination burning bright, and in that moment he knows he would do anything for them – whether verdant or vermillion. It’s a welcome change from the despair that had swallowed them months prior…

Shoulders sagging in defeat, he responds wearily, “I…you’re right, Pyrrha. I’m just…I’m just trying to be the leader you guys deserve.”

“You already are, Jaune. Your tactical mind won the battle of Mistral – I owe the lives of my family to you – not to mention the siege of Atlas and…” Pyrrha hesitates, unable to utter her name, “that detestable woman’s demise.”

“And what a brilliant plan _that_ was…”, Jaune mutters under his breath.

“Jaune,” One corner of her lips tugs upwards in a sly smirk, “Remember what we promised about ‘past mistakes’?”

_Yeah, I walked straight into that_.

“Besides, what matters is that we’re here, together and _alive_ , even if we didn’t come out fully…unscathed.”

Jaune’s wings twitch behind his back, seemingly as if to remind them both of their existence. His eyes almost seem to dim with a blend of sorrow and another emotion which Pyrrha isn’t quite sure of – shame, perhaps?

“It’s funny. Even though I threw away the idea of being like one of the old heroes after you…you know”, He shrugs, “I’m still so intent on acting like one regardless, trying to do it all by myself just as I tried to back at Beacon. But you don’t need one of those ‘white knights’ from the tales, you never have. You need a partner, someone you can trust completely – and someone who returns that trust too. You’ve shown that trust in me, but I haven’t for you.”

“That changes now. I-I promise you I’ll open up – stop trying to be the valiant idiot. You…you deserve better than that.”

“That’s all I needed, Jaune.” Pyrrha affirms, smiling all the while. After all, when has he broken a promise to her before?

Jaune presses his lips to her forehead as she holds him tighter – he won’t be going anywhere for the time being, which is fine by him. They start swaying gently at some point, neither are sure when. Once, they would have worried about how awkward such an embrace would be; whether they were hugging too tightly or if they smelled bad from the sweat they’d generated earlier…such concerns seem so petty to the both of them now.

Pyrrha can’t help but taunt Salem in her head over their small victory over her. She has taken so much from them – all of them – over the course of this war. But she hasn’t claimed their humanity. Not yet.


	2. Their intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the couple cuddle on their bed, Pyrrha decides she wants more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, I don't own RWBY.

The couple had moved to lying together on their shared bed some time ago, whittling away the minutes cuddling, interspersed with the occasional kiss. All in all, quite content, with the melancholy of the prior hour forgotten.

Currently, Pyrrha straddles Jaune in one of their more heated sessions, hungrily locking lips with her love. She’s somewhat thankful that they’d trained earlier; his wings mean that underneath a normal shirt they would trap any sweat against his back. That, coupled with the oils the feathers naturally secrete lead to him often going shirtless after training – as he is right now.

Her hands are quick to exploit that fact, now-gloveless hands tracing along his pale, toned torso. It’s all too rare for her liking that she gets to admire the body she had helped chisel out a year ago, and the passion of the moment brings out a small moan from the redhead. One which doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaune.

He pulls away from the kiss, head retreating into the pillow as he avoids her gaze. “Maybe we should stop there, I-I mean I’ve taken up enough of your time already! After all, you should have been in the shower an hour ago...” He sputters nervously.

She studies him intensely, noting his flushed cheeks and increased breathing rate. She knows he wants this just as much as she does, so why does he hold back? It can’t simply be his more chivalrous nature – she isn’t exactly keeping her desire hidden from him.

Could it…could it be that he’s still afraid of hurting her somehow? Pyrrha supposes it’s partly her fault, given the events of their first time and the prior hour… Well, regardless she isn’t giving up on him that easily.

_The shower…_

A brief fantasy plays out in her mind, reminiscent of the ones she had when they were just students at Beacon. In a perfect world, she’d guide him to the bathroom kissing him all the while, and once they made it to the shower they’d hastily rip off each other’s clothes, and Jaune would proceed to take her against the shower wall, or the floor – anywhere, really. It wouldn’t take much to make that a reality…

Adopting a coy smile, the redhead leans back into him, plying his jawline with soft kisses trailing up to his ear, all the while rocking her hips ever so slowly against his. Her smile only widens as his breathing becomes heavier, strangling the noises that are wont to come from his throat.

“Well, why don’t you join me?” She whispers seductively into his ear – or at least, she hopes it’s seductive.

Her proposition lingers in the air for a moment. _He understands what I just said…right? He can’t be that-_

Jaune’s words warble from his throat again, hesitance obvious, “A-are you sure, Pyrrha?”

Her lips move to his collarbone, caressing the sensitive skin. “It isn’t often that we get so much time away from the group together. I’d like for us both to enjoy the occasion.”

Jaune’s voice continues to bare his hesitance, “So do I, i-it’s just that…it’s just-” He sighs, not quite knowing what to say.

At this point, Pyrrha drops her teasing, moving her head so she can make eye contact once more with him. “Jaune, tell me, what’s wro-” She starts, voice full of concern, pausing as she notices his crimson eyes avoiding hers, full of an emotion she’s come to have known all too well over the past few months.

Guilt.

And the reason why hits her like a swing from Magnhild.

When Jaune had freed her from the witch’s control, she’d been a shattered girl, barely able to hold it together long enough for them to escape with their friends. All the people she had killed, all the atrocities she had been forced to commit under her influence had left her broken, with barely a shred of self-worth left. Slowly, with the help of Jaune and the rest of her friends, she began to pick up the pieces, return to who she truly was. But her knight in particular had stood by her in that time – and had witnessed her at her absolute lowest.

The things the fallen champion had said about herself, about what she had done and what she herself deserved were…unpleasant, to say the least. She can’t imagine what it must have been like for him, seeing her tear herself apart even further after all he’d sacrificed to get her back. And months later when they had first…’consummated’ their relationship, and all the times that had followed, a part of him has wondered whether this is truly right, or if he’s taking advantage of a broken girl.

It explains why he has never initiated between them, why his touch is always so gentle, almost hesitant, even in the act itself. Her recent ‘episode’ still rings fresh in his mind, bringing the guilt bubbling to the surface.

“Jaune, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Pyrrha blurts out. Jaune’s eyes dart to meet hers in confusion, prompting her to explain further. She continues, measuring her words carefully, “You’re not taking advantage of me. Each and every time we’ve had, I came to you because I wanted it; because I enjoy it and because I love you.” Those last three words still come a little harder than the rest. It isn’t the first time she’s confessed her love, but she can’t help feeling a little naïve for saying them at such a young age. Even so, she does remind herself that their case is far from the norm.

“Jaune, I know that I’m not healed, that I’ve yet to fully recover…but I also know that I want this…that I want _you_.”

The knight in question gives a sigh in response, shutting his eyes. She knows that it’s to focus on her – or rather her pain – to see if her actions are born of love, or just her shying away from her earlier anguish. It’s difficult trying to discern one negative emotion from another, and since they’re some of the first hybrids, learning is very much a process of trial and error.

After a few nerve-wracking moments his eyes open once more, seemingly much brighter than they were before, much to Pyrrha’s relief. However, that’s all the warning she gets before Jaune’s arms press her body into his. A squeal of surprise slips through her lips as he proceeds to get up from their bed, the redhead still in his arms in a display of dexterity the knight once could only have dreamed of.

His partner secure in his arms, Jaune wastes no time carrying her to the bathroom, Pyrrha laughing in delight as she holds onto him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was so short, this was originally going to have a lemon scene in it - still might tag it on as a part 2, can't quite make my mind up about it. I also wanted to use it to show a few details I had cut out of the previous chapter. That and I'm just a sucker for Arkos.
> 
> As before, thoughts/helpful critique would be appreciated.


	3. Their Intimacy, pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couple have an 'adventure' in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, I do not own RWBY.

Jaune, with his hands still holding Pyrrha’s legs and her arms looped around his neck, kicks open the bathroom door. The redhead can feel the heat build in her core as Jaune pins her against the wall, locking lips with her with a new hunger that excites her. Her Knight is quick to ‘ask’ for access to her mouth, tongue peeking out to lick her upper lip. She responds eagerly, her own tongue rushing out to meet his in a dance that is steadily becoming familiar to the both of them. Not even ten seconds pass before she gasps into his mouth as he starts to rock his hips, sending shivers of wondrous delight up her spine as a pleasant hardening strokes her nethers through their clothing. Without missing a beat, his tongue moves to explore her mouth, wanting to savour every part of her.

Eventually though, Pyrrha parts from her lover’s lips, savouring his taste for a moment before meeting his eyes with a glint of amusement. “Jaune, if you want to continue you’re going to have to put me down. Unless of course, you want to make a hole in my shorts.” Though reluctant to let go of the silken skin of her thighs, he nevertheless complies.

With her footing regained, her hands move immediately to free her hair from its ponytail, letting the tresses fall against her back and removing the coronet also. Jaune takes her in for a moment, clearly admiring her with her hair down, full of love and lust and not a hint of stress in her body.

He takes the initiative again – to her satisfaction – capturing her lips in a somewhat softer kiss this time; after all, his focus is on his hands currently trying to untie the laces holding her corset to her body. Pyrrha’s pleasantly surprised once more as she feels its iron hold on her loosen shortly after. _He’s getting quick at this_.

She pulls away again, this time to shed the obstructive corset, Jaune assisting with unrestrained glee. The piece falls to the ground and the blond stares unashamedly at her large, exposed breasts. Teenage self-consciousness trickles back to her under her knight’s gaze as blood does so to her cheeks, and she instinctively raises her arms to cover them. But Jaune intercepts them, and his eyes flit to hers.

“Pyrrha, what are you nervous about? Your breasts are amazing, just like the rest of your body.” For the redhead in question, most of their existence had been more of a curse. They started developing at an early age, only adding to her ‘perfect’ body and leading to increased jealously among the girls and leers from the boys of Sanctum, only getting worse with her fame. Finding fitting clothes had been – and still is – difficult; either something would fit her up until her bust, or would accommodate her bust but fit her like a trashbag, and finding well-fitting bras was also no easy task. Though as of late she’s coming to appreciate them a lot more…

The redhead responds with a small smile, to show her appreciation for his words, and he smiles back – before lunging at her throat. With soft kisses he caresses her neck, occasionally thrusting his tongue out to lick at her racing pulse, delighting in the fact that _he_ was the reason for her excitement. Hushed mewls fall from her mouth as she basks in Jaune’s ministrations, her hands admiring his toned body as they trace along his arms and chest. She gives a gasp as Jaune reaches underneath her skirt to squeeze her behind, and she can feel his lips curl into a smirk against her skin. He’s being surprisingly forward today – she wishes he would be more often.

Jaune stamps a path of red down her neck to the valley of her breasts, leaving a trail of fire across her skin. Moisture seeps between her legs with that familiar, aching emptiness making itself known. But he continues to tease her, and those wonderful lips make their way back up to her collarbone, taunting her. His hands instead glide up her body from her buttocks to her breasts, marvelling at the flawless skin and the strength that hides beneath it. The redhead moans as he grasps handfuls of her breasts firmly, thumbs circling her large, pink areolae before rolling her nipples, ripping more moans from her and feeding the ache between her legs as her nipples harden. An old question comes to mind once more in a moment of clarity while his fingers mould against the soft, sensitive tissue, wondering why his calloused hands feel so wonderful against her skin, how they elicit so much pleasure from her even with all the pain they’ve wrought.

_Perhaps,_ she reflects, _it’s partly due that very issue. And because it’s_ his _touch._

Her coherent thought however quickly comes to an end as his mouth envelopes her nipple, tongue lashing the rubbery nub, which her body immediately responds by arching her back, thrusting her sensitive breasts closer to that source of ecstasy. Her hand threads through his hair, holding him there so he won’t even think of teasing her more by leaving her breasts wanting. The movements of his tongue are somewhat tentative at first, trying to remember that pressure which while still pleasurable wouldn’t leave her sore, becoming more confident as the muscle memory returns.

Pyrrha’s other hand, deciding that she shouldn’t be the only one feeling good, trails down his abs enjoying the hardened muscle, until she reaches the hem of his trousers. Lust emboldening her, her palm cups the bulge in his pants, stroking it through the clothing. His hips buck instinctively in response, but his lips don’t let up their assault – he switches to suck her other breast as to not let it feel left out.

Coming to the conclusion that the strain of his erection against his pants must be quite painful, she instead moves to fumble with his belt. However, under the ministrations of her lover her concentration on the task is severely limited, combined with her other hand holding him to her breast ensures that she’s occupied by it for some time.

At last, the mechanism keeping the belt tightly wound around him is undone, and she triumphantly pulls down the unwanted barrier between her and her prize. Except they remain stubbornly where they are.

Jaune smirks against her breasts, and she remembers just why the obstruction won’t budge.

He wears two belts.

Cursing out the second belt in her mind with a mouth Qrow would be proud of, she grapples with it as well for a short while, before her patience gives way to annoyance. With a flick of her wrist, her semblance sends the nuisance flying into the tiled wall to their side, impacting with a loud crack.

Startled, Jaune pulls away from her breasts to investigate the offending sound. A crack in the wall and his belt lying on the floor beneath it clue him in.

“You could have just let me undo it…”

“That would have taken too long,” she replies huskily, and before her knight can respond she captures his lips once more in a ravenous kiss, pressing her body against his, _needing_ his skin against hers. His eyebrows shoot past his fringe in surprise, but he’s quick to reciprocate, eager to wrestle with her tongue once again. His hands can’t decide where to place themselves, too enraptured in the kiss and the feeling of her bare breasts squashing against his chest. However, Pyrrha is still focused on her goal, hand trailing down his chest once more to slip underneath his boxers and claim her prize.

Jaune bucks into Pyrrha as her fingers wrap around the base of his erection, practically singing with pleasure after so long in the painfully restrictive confines of his pants. She slides her hand up his length to which he gives a shuddering sigh, his own need now fully known. Thumbing the partially exposed head, she delights in finding it already slick with precum. In an almost practiced motion, she strokes his shaft up and down, remembering not to tug too hard to avoid hurting him. In only a few moments her fingers and his shaft are slick with the thin fluid.

Jaune in his haze doesn’t take long at all to mimic her own actions, a hand trailing upwards from her knee to disappear underneath her miniskirt. He massages the apex of her legs, all the more aroused by the small moan that escapes her lips and her juices soaking through the thin shorts. And he can’t help but take a little pride in it, knowing that her arousal is because of _him_.

Eager to stroke at the swollen lips directly, his hand moves to the top of her skirt, before slipping underneath once more. His fingers quickly find her divide, beginning to stroke her slick outer folds but intentionally avoiding her erect clit. Just as he expected, she parts from their passionate, sloppy kiss to whine into the crook of his neck, desperately grinding her pelvis into his palm so her clit can get some attention. Her strokes become all the more erratic as her concentration ebbs under his fingers – then stops altogether, much to Jaune’s displeasure.

Her hand retreats from his boxers, now to tug down his trousers again. She’s met with markedly more success as his pants fall to his ankles, and he removes his hand from her underwear to step out from them. Though she may loathe the temporary loss his masterful fingers, the sight of a fully naked Jaune almost makes up for it.

Her more flightful fantasies would play out just like this, only back then his eyes were still his original gleaming azure and his complexion a little more tanned. Now, he stands before her with the form of a fallen angel: blood-red eyes, vermillion wings and skin paler than a Schnee’s, naked and full of lust for her – part of her actually felt giddy at that. His body, though not a hulking balloon of sinew, is still fairly toned, the built up mass showing off quite well; in her mind even the classical sculptors of Mistral would have come short to what she has fashioned from the aspiring knight – though thankfully his manhood isn’t anywhere near as modest. And only she gets to take full pleasure in it.

Her eyes trail downward, past his hardened pecs, muscled arms and defined abs, coming to his bare crotch. His manhood stands to attention, bobbing with each beat of his heart and a sheen of precum covering the head, eager to be buried deep within her – the prospect of which only heightening the aching need between her legs. She’s suddenly thankful that he pulled away from her, otherwise she’d probably have a mind to have him bend her over the sink instead.

The redhead realises she’s been staring a little too long, and her blush deepens just a little more. Finally, she meets his eyes again. “It’s your turn, you know.”

“I know”, her knight replies softly as he steps towards her. His lips caress her neck once more as his hands fumble with her skirt. Always soft, teasing, caressing, eager to give her as much pleasure as he possibly can without hurting her in the slightest. Though she may at times wish he was more passionate, more forward and commanding, she does love his more ‘romantic’ side. Besides, she doesn’t find him to be lacking at all in passion during the act itself and above all, he’s attentive to her needs. The memories of their first time confirm that. His gentle, slow strokes into her as she tried to contain her groans of pain – they probably should have spent more time on foreplay – not wanting to alert the others outside the couple’s shared tent. The fact that he had made sure she climaxed after their ‘joining’, and had cuddled with her sore body, rather than leaving her having gotten what he wanted as some small part of her whispered he would.

Though it could have been more pleasurable and less painful, she has no regrets over their first time.

Her reminiscing comes to an end as she hears her skirt fall to the floor, followed shortly by Jaune hurriedly pulling down her shorts and underwear. And now she’s laid bare before him. He makes no attempt to hide his gaze drinking in her form, toned ivory arms and legs, the linings of abs just peeking through, her tight waist and full hips, her voluptuous bosom and plump posterior. ‘Warrior Goddess’ comes to his mind looking upon her; built for battle yet still cutting a practically perfect feminine figure.

His eyes linger on her shaven vulva, noting the puffy, pink lips and the trails of clear fluid streaking down her thighs. Pride waxes at the sight, indulging in the sight of her arousal.

Pyrrha plies his lips with a kiss, raising her palms and pushing lightly against his chest, guiding him toward the shower. She appreciates the hardened muscle beneath her finger tips before separating to warn him of the shower step. Gods know if she did not he’d probably trip and get a concussion, and their night would go up in smoke.

At last, they’re both in the shower fully undressed. The redhead slides the door shut behind her as her other half turns on the hose. They duck under the stream, waiting for the water to heat up.

Jaune fixes her with a look, “You’re sure you want this?”

“Absolutely.” She smiles up at him coquettishly. She isn’t blind to his eyes roaming over her now glistening body – he desires her just as much as she does him. But his nature dictates that he asks. It’s not as if she risks getting pregnant either; she’s still on the pill as part of her old, familiar routine from before the Calamity.

_Besides, it’s not as if it could happen anymore._

She bites her cheek, trying to focus on this, on _him_ rather than that destructive train of thought. Right now, this room is the entire world as far as she should be concerned. Deal with life later.

Pyrrha pounces, mashing her lips against his, both to get things moving again as well as to distract herself. She can feel his erection pressing against her stomach as she presses into him. Her hand wraps around it again – even as he breaks the kiss to tease the sensitive globes of flesh he so adores. They're so, _so_ close, and the pool of molten want between her legs is overflowing. She needs this – needs him _now_.

Yet before she can guide his head to her entrance, he drops down to his knees quite literally slipping from her grasp.

He smiles sheepishly up at her, "Hang on a moment - just want to try something". She's unable to respond with anything other than an exasperated nod and heavy panting. She has more than an inkling of what that 'something' is, but any excitement over it is outweighed by having to wait further still.

He continues his pattern of teasing, caressing her creamy thighs with his lips, her scent filling his nose, slowly making his way up to her glistening folds as soft moans escape her mouth. Knowing what comes next didn't prevent her from gasping as she feels his lips on her labia, before giving a long, broad stroke along her aching sex with his tongue. Her taste is odd…but not unpleasant. He gauges her reaction before following up with several more, each time a little more confident than the last. Her hand instinctively reaches down to thread through his hair, keeping him in place.

The feeling of his tongue, wet and soft against her folds is completely alien, but quite pleasurable to her surprise. Her whimpers soon increase in intensity to cries clawing from her throat as he changes tact, tongue now swirling around her clit, occasionally bringing his lips to suck on the hardened nub. Before long she has to lean against the wall for support to prevent her trembling legs giving way.

The redhead cries again as another golden wave washes over her; she's so close but he refuses to enter her, even with his fingers, clearly intent on teasing her to death. She knows he's only doing this to heighten the pleasure that will accompany that glorious fall, though the molten need consuming her leaves her heedless of that fact.

"Please...inside..."

Her plea is answered seemingly with nothing, but she swears she can feel his mouth curl into a smirk. So with an indignant huff, she wrenches him up again into another ravenous kiss, not caring about her taste on his lips.

Once the kiss has left them both satisfyingly breathless, she turns away from him. Pyrrha presses her upper body and hands against the tiled wall, reminiscent of a position she’d read of in one of the romance novels she’d boug– _borrowed from Blake_ , leaving her lower half on display for him. Her shapely butt and her womanhood in its fullest bloom offered up to him.

As much as instinct screams at him to close the distance and simply take her - rut with her until they're both completely spent, he ignores the urge, admiring the woman before him fixing him with a look of such love and lust, in a surprisingly provocative position. How he is the first to love her in this way, to become so impossibly entwined with her he'll never quite understand. To think that the champion he had known from Beacon harboured such a... passionate side, a side no one but he could ever see...

" _Jaune_..." She calls out, the need in her voice sending shivers up his spine.

He shakes his head from his reverie. _Probably best not to think too much into it - my ego's been stroked enough_. The knight positions himself behind her, gently brushing aside her vermillion hair to her side and planting a kiss on the nape of her neck. He lines up his length against her quim, stifling a moan as he feels her hot, wet flesh against his most sensitive organ. Whimpers rag from her as she feels his head part her lips, nestled at her entrance but still not penetrating yet. She turns her head to the side, looking at him pleadingly.

" _Please..._ "

With his hands firmly on her waist, he begins sinking into her accepting folds. Her walls envelop his member, hot, wet, so soft. The lack of a barrier between them allows her walls to embrace his shaft so much more intimately, he can feel every bump, every fold of her quim. So, with every ounce of willpower he can muster he penetrates her slowly, inch by painstaking inch, her womanhood taking more and more of him in until finally he's fully sheathed, eliciting a moan from him.

Pyrrha sighs in contentment. Finally, that aching emptiness is gone, feeling wonderfully full with her lover deep inside her once more. She's still a snug fit for him she finds, his manhood pleasurably stretching her walls. Their first time his endowment was more of a curse, increasing her pain. But now that they're past that...

He pulls his hips back drawing a satisfied gasp from Pyrrha, loving the feeling of her walls pulling yearningly at his manhood before thrusting abruptly back in, bringing out another throaty moan from her. Jaune repeats this process, his tempo increasing as passion takes the reigns, fuelled by his lover's lustful cries. Eventually he establishes a sort of pattern - short, quick bucks interspersed randomly with long, sensual strokes, trying to keep her guessing.

Every time he thrusts with enough force for his balls to hit her protruding clit, every time she takes him fully to the hilt wrings another howl of pleasure from her, as she edges closer to orgasm. It's a shame he can't quite get the angle needed to hit her G-spot, but this is their first time with him making love to her from behind after all. They're both more used to facing each other, being able to explore each other's bodies fully and her having something rub against her clit. As is she can barely keep her grip on the tiles beneath her hands while her breasts sway temptingly beneath her. If only Jaune would reach forward…

His rational mind wanes with his waxing passion, wanting to coax more and more moans from her until she starts panting his name. His thrusts become increasingly erratic – but they have the desired effect. Her moans crescendo, feeling the desperation behind his rutting and aroused even more so by it – his need is just as great as hers. Finally, on one particular thrust burying deep within her, she cries out his name.

“Oh, _Jaune…_ ”

His own response is incoherent, but endearing, and – _Oh!_

His strong arms wrap around her torso, pulling her away from the wall so she can feel his chest against her back, his hips against hers, still inside. His thrusts have come to a grinding halt however, and as she turns her head to nuzzle his neck she slowly grinds up and down against him, to get him moving again. “Jaune…” she breathes, and his hips fall back into their previous motion, wasting no time getting back to speed. Soon he’s pounding into her like a man possessed, one hand coming to roughly grope her breast, the other descending to rub her clit while his lips leave searing, sloppy kisses on her neck. Her knight is ravishing her, just like in her fantasy. All she can do is dig her nails into the skin of his hips and cry out in ecstasy as he takes her.

Her body quakes against his with pleasure and lust as he ravishes her, groaning and panting hotly in her ear as that familiar pressure in the vicinity of her womb builds to a head – she’s so, _so_ close. As Jaune puts his lips to her throat, he can feel the racing pulse underneath, mirroring the throbs of her walls squeezing his manhood to ecstasy. His member pulses inside her in addition to his thrusts, moulding her walls and pleasuring her in so many more ways than one. Her body is at the very apex of pleasure, until finally it consumes her, every single nerve set ablaze.

Pyrrha throws her head back onto his shoulder, back arching and legs trembling in a deluge of pleasure and bliss pouring through her veins, releasing a howl singing with the ecstasy of her orgasm. Her lover continues to pound into her, to keep her climax alight for as long as possible. But the sheathe of her sex clamping and convulsing around him, eager to suck down his essence, brings him to his end. His orgasm shoots through him as she’s coming down from her own, a deep moan tearing from his throat using the little air he has left in his lungs. She feels his member throb heavily as he pumps his seed deep into her yearning womb, and his legs begin to buckle underneath their weight.

They fall gently back onto the shower wall behind them, the vigour of their muscles swirling down the drain alongside their fluids. Jaune and Pyrrha slide down awkwardly, coming to rest at the basin. Minutes pass as they bask in the haze of their afterglow, apathetic to the water streaming from the shower. Jaune’s arms are still wrapped around her waist, holding her smaller frame tight against him whilst she hums a tuneless melody into his neck and listens to their racing hearts steady. Pyrrha can feel his member, still slick with their juices, softening against her thigh having slid out of her during their descent. A shame, she supposes – both of them prefer to stay ‘joined’ after they’ve climaxed. Feels more intimate, more loving that way. Dimly aware in their fuzzy haze, that they should probably move to actually clean themselves and exit the shower, but neither care to break the hold of this blissful moment.

 

* * *

 

Pyrrha stands in front of the sink mirror, towelling off her long, vibrant hair, avoiding focusing on the… changes… Behind her she can hear Jaune drying his wings. She should probably help him with that, like she had washing them in the shower, given that some parts are rather hard for his own arms to reach and clean well.

The sound of towel brushing against feather stops abruptly and she’s sees her knight approaching her in the mirror. She swivels to meet him, leaning back against the counter, and he plants a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. However, she gasps into his lips in surprise, feeling his length already at half-mast pressing against her stomach.

“That was quick...” She murmurs as they separate, eyes darting down for a moment before meeting his again. Warmth spreads through her chest upon meeting his gaze – it isn’t often anymore that she sees him so…at ease.

A slight blush dusts his face as he notices her peek at his crotch. “Well… why wouldn’t I be? I’m alone with my divine girlfriend for the entire day, and she’s standing right in front of me, completely naked.”

Pyrrha bites her lip, looking over his body as liquid desire seeps between her legs. He’s clearly eager just as she is to explore the physical frontier of their relationship, away from the quick trysts they had in their tent as their only form of release. And they _do_ have the rest of the day…

The redhead pounces, throwing her arms around his neck as she engages him in a ravenous kiss.  Flaxen brows shoot up for a split second, before he begins to return the kiss with just as much fervour and their tongues meet in that familiar dance.

They part, breathless, staring into one another’s eyes. “I’m really starting to understand the whole ‘passionate Mistralian’ stereotype”, he jokes – to which she responds with a playful smack on the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?” he cries in mock hurt, but his beaming smile gives him away.

With an amused shake of her head, she presses up to his ear – part of her still can’t quite believe she’s going to say this, even after their ‘adventure’ in the shower. “So…back to the bedroom…or stay here?” she asks in her best seductive whisper.

“Oh, definitely the bed. My butt’s still numb from sitting on the shower basin for so long…”

A small giggle flies from her lips at his silly response – before releasing a surprised squeal as he sweeps her feet out from under her, and the next thing she knows Jaune has her in a bridle carry heading toward the door. They leave much the same way they entered, Jaune carrying a giggling Pyrrha.

Though their clothes are markedly absent now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's a smut/lemon chapter, or whatever you like to call it. I decided to split it in two because this was taking too long, so there may be more.
> 
> This was certainly...interesting to write. While obviously somewhat exaggerated, I tried to refrain from falling into the patterns that a lot of stories of this kind follow (e.g. ridiculous body measurements). My biggest fear here is that it ends up being repetitive, especially if I decide to write the other half. I've never really been able to write purely happy stories - there always needs to be something...wrong. I suppose that's because any story without some conflict, some issue or problem to be resolved is often quite uninteresting to me. So I couldn't resist sneaking a little hint of one in here...
> 
> Depending on how you guys like it I might write the other half, or skip right ahead to the return of their friends.
> 
> As before, helpful critique is much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Not particularly sure how I feel about this one. Took me way too long to get back into writing this after two months of exams, and even longer to just stop tweaking it and just put it out.
> 
> Hopefully, it's good. But helpful critique is appreciated.
> 
> Inspired by UGX7's "Destiny of Remnant"...and slight spoilers for that, I suppose.


End file.
